


The Courage of Stars

by GorseMonster



Series: Far Beyond Paradise Lost [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Festivals, Food, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Innuendo, Lalafell Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Mentioned Elidibus (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Polyamory, These Geese Are Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GorseMonster/pseuds/GorseMonster
Summary: In the late autumn, Iosis, holding the seat of Azem, brings their husbands Emet-Selch, Hythlodaeus and Nabriales to a city far, far away from Amaurot to take part in a festival that honours the departed.Patch 5.3 spoilers abound!
Relationships: Azem/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus, Nabriales/Azem (Final Fantasy XIV), Nabriales/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Series: Far Beyond Paradise Lost [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1450672
Kudos: 6





	The Courage of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> After months of struggling with writing I managed to throw this down in one night in a burst of inspiration. For maximum effect, please listen to the 2020 rendition of Sleeping at Last's Saturn. - https://open.spotify.com/track/3HTzd1eZ4WGNUVkV9g4HH2?si=busD7XbdTueN89xnxWxzaA
> 
> With thanks to my goose-in-arms who always gives me the motivation and encouragement to keep creating.

“Hurry up,  _ hurry up! _ We’ll be late!” Iosis chattered, bouncing around the living room of the large household, practically swinging off the arms of Hythlodaeus and Nabriales whom carried small overnight satchels, while Emet-Selch fussed over his own luggage.

“They are  _ seven hours ahead  _ of Amaurot! If we don’t set off  _ now _ we’ll miss half the fun!” they impressed, fetching Emet-Selch’s mask off the counter and presenting it with a pouting frown.

“If they are merely seven hours ahead then surely we have apt time to consider what we will bring, considering we will be travelling by…” Emet-Selch’s words trailed off, looking at Iosis with confusion. “You cannot mean to say it is  _ tonight, _ we shall never make it in time unless we…”

Iosis flustered for a moment, their tail rapping on the carpet in agitation. Emet-Selch hastened his packing, taking the mask and fitting it across his face.

“Little monster, are you going to  _ teleport _ us, is that what my ears are hearing unspoken?” Nabriales piped up, grinning widely, narrowed eyes glinting beneath his mask.

“W-well. I wasn’t going to  _ carry _ all of you, and since my role is to travel places in sometimes more of a hasty fashion...Yes. I was going to bring us all there  _ tonight _ . The sun will just about be setting now, and that’s when the festival kicks off.”

Hythlodaeus chuckled and tugged Iosis close to gently ruffle their hair. “Have the Convocation not been giving you apt time to fly to your destinations? You really must be pressed for time on assignments if even you are resorting to our  _ time honoured _ mode of transport,  _ Azem. _ ”

“Aaaauuugh don’t! Don’t call me that! That’s for  _ business! _ That’s for  _ work! _ ”

“Yet if I recall, you were quite fond of your previous title: Professor of Advanced Creation and Applied Polymorphy,” Nabriales teased, bumping his hip to Iosis’s side.

“I can’t fit all this- but I  _ need _ to bring--” Emet-Selch muttered in frustration.

“Hades, love. You do not need to bring the aetherometer, and you  _ certainly _ do not need to bring a records book.”

“Hythlodaeus, this is an important opportunity and I will not see it was-”

“ **Hades.** ”

It wasn’t often that Hythlodaeus’s voice would become firm, and even the slightest inflection was enough to stop Emet-Selch in his tracks, looking at his copper-haired husband with an almost  _ wary _ gaze.

“We are going there for  _ fun _ , darling. Though we will effectively be representatives of Amaurot, I will pull your ears if I see you  _ conducting business _ this evening, yes?” Hythlodaeus’s smile was warm, lips parting to grin with a light titter.

Nabriales and Iosis hissed through their teeth and let out an ‘oooohhh’ in tandem, before bursting out laughing.

Flustered, taking several things out of his bag and zipping it closed, Emet-Selch put it over his shoulder and folded his arms.

“Well, I suppose in that event then...I am done packing.”

Iosis stood on tiptoes to tug Emet-Selch’s collar and place a kiss on his jaw, smiling at him and gently pressing their plain black mask to his red. “We might live forever, but this only happens one night every year over there. You’ll love it, I promise. Might even love it more than me.”

He scoffed, squeezing his spouse’s fingers. “I doubt I could love anything more than you, dear.”

Iosis’s cheeks darkened in a blush, batting playfully at Emet-Selch’s chest.

“Though Hythlodaeus gives some stiff competition from time to time.”

“And here I am, mistaken for thinking that Iosis themself was not hard enough on their own.”

“ _ Dionysus! _ ”

Nabriales cackled with mirth, a light bow that flipped his hood over his head as he did. This time, Iosis’s hands playfully batted at  _ his _ chest.

“If we are all ready and have had our fill of teasing our  _ very _ grumpy husband, shall we let you do the honours, Iosis?” Hythlodaeus asked, twining his fingers with Iosis’s free hand as one curled into Emet-Selch’s digits, their tail curling around Nabriales’s wrist to settle its spade tip into his palm.

“You’re all  _ really _ brave for letting me teleport all of you at the same time.”

Sudden realisation set into all three husbands, and before panicked shouting and warbling could be voiced, four were carried into the currents of the star, skating along its threads in the weave linking all and everything, navigated effortlessly by the gilt primordial whom for  _ thousands _ of years, now, had refused to utilise such methods.

Just as when they were appointed at Akaedemia and had to learn how to etch Concept Matrices, their appointment to the seat of Azem required they learn to drift on the threads of the star to go from place to place. Just as then, they learned fast, and  _ expertly. _

“Iosi-!”

Eight eyes gazed around, at the riot of colour before them. Yellows, oranges, purples, greens, all banners and lights draped and floating around a town square as people dressed in glimmering, embroidered clothes in every hue laughed and socialised. The smells of hearty, hot foods promised their noses as an autumnal chill bit at uncovered skin and music from performers vibrated into their bones.

“Welcome to Canticum de Stella! Or, as the locals call it, Cantistella.” Iosis grinned, cutting off dazed alarm as the three men peered at their surroundings.

“Canti...stella.” Hythlodaeus repeated, watching as locals, bereft of facial coverings, in an array of so many kinds of clothes made his eyes fill with wonder.

“They said the full name means  _ Song of the Star _ , and the shortened version is more... _ Heart of the Star _ . It’s something of a breadbasket city; almost all of the food supply of this nation is grown or reared in the area surrounding the city.”

“And this festival you say is to…” Nabriales prompted.

“It celebrates the souls of those who passed or chose to move on. I know I’d rather be celebrated for having lived than mourned for having died.” Iosis’s face drew into a grin, allaying such morbid words over a concept Amaurotines only experienced very rarely.

“Azem! Welcome, welcome  _ back _ , Traveller! I see yer not alone, either. Welcome to Cantistella, Amaurotines!” A man approached, broad shouldered with bright violet eyes and deep tanned skin. Donning red robes embroidered with silver thread and a hat with a veritable rainbow of feathers tucked into the band around it. A short trimmed beard coated his cheeks, jaw and chin, embracing Iosis heartily.

“Mayor! Please accept my apologies for our lateness! We missed the start of the festival entirely.”

“Ahahah! Apologies ain’t needed. This ‘ere party is only getting started! Now, who’re these fine folk yer brought? Din’t think you Big City people knew colours other than black and grey, but look at these right vibrant red and white masks!”

“Emet-Selch, Angel of Truth, Magus.”

“Hythlodaeus, Chief of the Bureau of the Architect.”

“Nabriales, the Majestic, Master of Mixtures.”

The Mayor paused to consider the three before chuckling. “Right keen on yer titles, you Amaurotines. I ask this little sparrow here what their title is and get “Azem” and nothin’ else!”

“That is because they do not  _ like _ titles. Now, if you were to ask  _ me _ what their titles are, the answer would be ‘Azem, Shepherd to the Stars, Traveller, The Sun, Professor of Advanced Creation and Appl-’”

A taloned hand gently laid over Nabriales’s mouth, making him smirk and gently pinch the offending fingers with chelicerae.

“Pray forgive my husband. He is like this.”

The Mayor burst into laughter, clapping a hand on Iosis’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “Aye; ain’t the first time I heard yer grumblin’ about yer ‘usbands. Glad yer company ain’t as dull as folks rumour most Amaurotines to be.”

“We are  _ hardly _ ‘most Amaurotines’,” Emet-Selch protested.

“If’n yer thinkin’ that, then best you get dressed less like that, n’more like this! Take care’o yer flock, Azem. Hopin’ to see you at the river later, aye?”

With a confirming nod from Iosis, the Mayor disappeared into the crowd.

“Well, you heard the authoritative gentleman, Emet-Selch. Time to get you out of those drab old robes, hmm?” Hythlodaeus purred, already eyeing up a stall with brightly coloured garments.

“I  _ doooo _ like seeing the  _ Angel of Truth _ out of his robes.”

“Not like  _ that _ , Nabriales!” Emet-Selch flustered.

“We are in a foreign country, Architect. Who knows what may be considered normal here? Perhaps even public displays of-”

“The bacchanalia is in spring, Dio.” The Traveller’s smile, demure superficially, was all but a promise to the Majestic.

  
  


Before long, the group had shed their plain black robes for colours more befitting the occasion. Iosis donned a white shirt ornamented with intricate gold threadwork that appeared like constellations, cinched in with a purple corset and loose vibrant orange pants with purple embroidery. 

Hythlodaeus had gone with a foggy teal jacket with applique leaves and pale lilac blossoms over a white shirt and black, soft pants.

For Emet-Selch, he had picked a deep berry red shirt that had gold embroidery, that fit his lithe figure and draped an orange scarf around it like a cowl around his neck. 

As for Nabriales, he had fussed and dug through racks before finding a velvet shirt that iridesced in purple and gold depending on how the light struck, and was strewn with sparks of crystal and gold that made it appear as if a night sky filled with stars. A sleeveless turtleneck with a keyhole accent just below the neck, and tight leather pants with cutouts and lacework at their sides, tied off at his hips.

Had it not been for their masks and Iosis’s horns, they very well could have appeared as any citizen of Cantistella. Their masks drew some attention, but the wardens of the star and their customs were well-known throughout the world, thanks in a large part to the current and previous Azem.

The next few hours became a blur, mostly of losing and finding Iosis in the crowds as they bounced from stall to stall, trading for trinkets, wares and cultivars of plants that grew in the customary hues of the festival, pleading with Hythlodaeus for a corner of the garden to grow them in, promising with crossed fingers that they definitely, absolutely, would stop letting the chickens into the house if he did.

He agreed anyway, knowing that they would not even wait a day before they found the shapeshifter dozing with Medusa on their lap in the living room.

The four tried their skills at plucking floating apples from a barrel of water, Io gripping each with ease in razor sharp teeth, Nabriales succeeding with pincers, and Emet-Selch with deft skill.

“No, no, you have to bite  _ slowly! _ ” Emet-Selch explained as Hythlodaeus dipped his head down once more, Iosis holding ginger locks back from the water.

“I am  _ trying _ , dear, but I am not possessed of such a deft mouth.”

Nabriales leaned in, whispering something into the gardener’s ear that made him blush. Yet, on his third attempt, with his face dipping beneath the water, he successfully retrieved the sweet apple, teeth sunk into its skin.

“What...what did you tell him, Nabriales?”

“Nothing he has not heard before. Just a small reminder.” Even beneath the mask, Emet-Selch saw how one burnt honey eye closed in a wink.

The four wandered between more stalls, Iosis stopped by a man who claimed to accurately guess ages for but a handful of coin. He was accurate, perhaps by the standards of this continent, but when Iosis gave an age summing into the thousands, they were gently ribbed for their nature as a long-lived Amaurotine before the man went on his way.

A quieter corner was sought out, settling on a bench with card boxes with a selection of foods tucked in. Juicy meat, smokey and lightly charred, roasted over roaring fires started with sparking metal. Braised gourds with buttery texture. Another container had stewed autumn berries topped with a hasty, cookie-like surface served with deep, golden and creamy custard that cut the tartness of the fruit and balanced out the dry topping.

“This is all...very homey. Quaint?” Emet-Selch mused while taking a bite out of the braised gourd with a pleased hum.

“Not all nations are as apt with Creation as Amaurot, dear Hades. Out here many people even take part in manual craft. For example, that scarf you are wearing? That fabric is very likely woven by hand rather than being created as we might.” Hythlodaeus answered, chuckling. “Not unlike how I grow all our fruits and vegetables and cook them by hand.”

“It does have a certain  _ rustic _ charm to it. Perhaps the greater effort enhances the result aetherically in its own way. Fascinating, perhaps this warrants further study; if only  _ somebody _ had not told me I would not be needing my logb--”

“And you still don’t! I’m sure study can wait a little while. What’s a few days in our lives, hm?” Iosis chirped around a mouthful of food.

Emet-Selch sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “I  _ suppose _ you are right, little monster. Do not let Lahabrea hear me say this but taking a break from our duties as wardens has been...it has been pleasant.”

“Do my ears deceive me or is that the sound of the most eminent Emet-Selch enjoying  _ slacking off? _ ”

A retort to the Majestic was cut off by the sound of a voice speaking, volume enhanced through aether, on the music stage. Inviting the revellers to make their way to the river to pay tribute.

Meals were finished with haste, the group following the crowd as they made their way to the river. Iosis explained on the way what happened, that those who have one they want to honour split off to collect a lantern, and bring it to the river, and all who do are welcome to join.

It was Hythlodaeus that joined Iosis in collecting a lantern - Emet-Selch and Nabriales stood off to the side, but followed close behind as the two made their way to the river.

“Wh...whom is it, that Iosis mourns?” Nabriales asked with a slight trepidation. He had understood that Hythlodaeus had seen the passing of many in his age, having been around for…Well, he did not know how long exactly, but jokes had been made about him seeing an entire change of guard in the Convocation, including Lahabrea.

“Their mother.”

One hand holding the lantern, fragile paper lit with a tiny shard of gleaming crystal, the other gripping Hythlodaeus’s hand tight, the two came to the water’s edge, lit by person after person holding lanterns in differing pale pastel hues.

_ “Tonight we have celebrated in honour of those who have left or chosen to depart. We have made merry and reveled in toast to their lives. As we approach the placid river, we now permit ourselves this moment to mourn, and set a lantern adrift on its currents, just as their souls now do in the Underworld. Let us lay our lights upon the water and wish those souls safe journeys to whomever they may become.” _

Hythlodaeus and Iosis slowly unclasped their hands, reaching up to remove masks and bear their faces to the flickering lights and each other, the gardener’s warm smile met with a weaker one as tears welled in the shapeshifter’s eyes.

He was the first to kneel at the water and gently set his lantern down, watching as the gentle current brought it to drift with other lights floating on the surface, mingling and dancing on its petal-like edges.

“Karpo…” he murmured, a slow sigh escaping his lips. Emet-Selch’s face softened at the sound of the name, his long fingers settling on Hythlodaeus’s shoulder with a slow rub of his thumb.

Iosis leaned against Hythlodaeus, kneeling, still holding onto their lantern.

“I would have liked to have met her. Karpo, I mean.” Their voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“She would have  _ adored _ you. Quite a love of baklava herself. Even had the same favourite bakery as you. Had you been around back then...I dare say she would have proposed to you before you had the chance; just as she did with me.”

Quiet chuckles were exchanged between the two, Iosis’s gaze firmly fixed on the lantern, taloned fingers stroking over its edges and creases as other lanterns slowly passed by. Hythlodaeus’s hand gently laid on their arm, soon joined by Emet-Selch and Nabriales.

The shapeshifter drew a slow breath, finally dipping their hands into the water to set the lantern adrift with its brethren.

“Nyx.”

Only then did tears spill, watching as the light sailed into the brook, mingling and disappearing into the crowd of lights that glittered on the water.

“She’d be so proud of you, Charon,” Emet-Selch whispered, the crowd a murmuration of tribute, joy, mourning and weeping.

“You think?”

“Look at yourself, my dear. An accomplished professor, a talented shapeshifter, elected to the Convocation as  _ Azem? _ I cannot think of a single parent who would  _ not _ be proud of you. Even  _ him. _ ”

A hoarse huff, a simper on their lips. “Got to it before I could even protest…”

“I knew Nyx and by the  _ star _ would she be ever so proud to have a child like you. Even if you were none of those titles, none of those roles. She would be proud of you for being exactly who you are,” Hythlodaeus finally spoke up.

Grey talons laced into their digits, Iosis lifting their head to meet the smiling, unmasked gaze of Nabriales.

“I will not pry, but I know  _ you _ , and only a fool would be anything less than astounded by everything that you are, monster mine.” Gentle lips laid on their forehead, then the tip of each horn.

They sat together at the river’s edge, watching as lanterns drifted by and the crowd thinned out to return to festivities. The stars above matched the glittering lanterns and water below, the grass cool and damp with dew. Lights of homes lit up the edges of mountains, and hushed chatter gave way for the sounds of gentle water and distant revelry.

Emet-Selch’s head lifted slowly from the group, lifting his mask off to stare with gold eyes that flit their gaze across the sky.

“Something amiss, dear Hades?”

“The Underworld. It...it is singing.”

  
  


“No, yer don’ understand. My mouth, is  _ too small _ fer that game!” Ira protested, pointing at their diminutive jaw.

“I find that improbable. Your mouth has always been  _ very _ accommodating for me.”

Emet-Selch was brought out of his reminiscing by the sounds of argument between his spouse and their husband.

Half paying attention to one’s flirting and the other’s flustering and half still daydreaming through ancient memories, his fingers lazily curled into the loosely knit stitches of his scarf: A bright cherry red that evoked Emet-Selch’s soul, much as the tyrian purple one draped around Nabriales’s neck evoked his. His fingers found small gaps in its weave, dropped stitches where small hands, still learning how to knit, had fumbled.

Ira had made them, and though he and Nabriales could simply snap fingers or flick wrists to make such things, the lalafell had done so anyway, evenings spent watching them curl and twist yarn in almost a trance. Though not made from their aether, each garment was nothing short of _ steeped _ in that blue-bleached gold, imbued with their aether simply through effort expended.

Those studies had been fascinating, once he was given leave to study the crafts of Cantistella.

A wicked smile curled onto Nabriales’s lips as taloned fingers cupped their jaw and squeezed to open their mouth.

“You do not mean to tell me you cannot pluck an apple from that barrel with  _ theeeese _ teeth, Iooosis. Will you at least  _ try? _ ” He smirked, challenging and pleading all at once.

“Uuuugh, alrigh’ alrigh’, I’ll  _ try _ , yer Majesty.”

Expecting it to go like years past where their teeth would not find purchase, they were surprised when newly-forged sawteeth gripped and pulled up an apple with ease, their arms shot up in the air in victory, showing off their prize fruit to Emet-Selch with glee.

“Yes, I see, very well done, hero. You have vanquished gods, armies and now  _ apple bobbing. _ Truly the hero of the realm.” His voice was flat, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he plucked the apple from their teeth, taking a bite out of it as they made sputtering noises of protest. Innuendos burst forth from Nabriales’s lips about ‘devouring his fruit’ since they had theirs so  _ cruelly _ stolen by the most eminent Emet-Selch.

It was not  _ home _ , but in those eyes, cherry and gold as their souls were gold and cherry, there was shelter. This was not  _ that _ festival, but watching the merriment and how Ira and Nabriales laughed, the lalafell toted on his shoulder and their smile softening in rare shows of vulnerability, it was close enough.

And when Ira laid a lantern on the shore of a river, murmuring a name “Nerinero” that he did not know, watching as it drifted with tearful eyes, it was all so close, so familiar to him. This time, he joined them, setting his own lantern onto the waters.

“Hythlodaeus.”

“Hythlodaeus.” Nabriales echoed the name, kneeling with the two of them and drawing Ira onto his lap, their legs draping onto Emet-Selch’s.

Ira watched the lantern for some time, eyes dipping down and to the left as if to recall, memories of the gardener’s shade from the now tickling ones that they had yet to recall in anything more than fleeting dreams.

“...Hythlodaeus,” they finally echoed, faint and as if from the bottom of a well.

A flex of Ira’s fingers produced another lantern made of paper-thin crystal, of mingled cherry and gold aether and stark white in its lack of hue. Both Emet-Selch and Nabriales gazed at it with a pause as it floated from their digits onto the water, standing out amongst the crowd.

Just as…

“Amun.”

The name had not been spoken in so long - not in thousands of years - and it was little more than an echoed whisper on the lips of the Ascians they were perched on. A bold white lantern to match bold white robes.

Delicate lights carried out from river to the sea, the sun was setting, and the sky in Hingashi turned a deep sienna hue, bathing them all in a light that matched the crystal hanging around the Warrior of Light’s neck, emblazoned with the sun. The symbol of gold itself; the manifestation of alchemy’s magnum opus. Melanosis, leucosis, xanthosis,  _ iosis. _

It was not  _ home _ , but it was  _ home enough. _

  
  
  


“Ah. The Underworld is singing.”


End file.
